Distracted
by xjadedjoy
Summary: Carly's distracted and she's analyzing it too much.


**Distracted.**

_Pairing;_ Shelby / Carly.  
_Rating;_ T.  
_Disclaimer;_ No, gentle sire. I do not stake claim to these events, for that would be sin.  
_Summary;_ Carly's distracted, and she's analyzing it way too much.

* * *

Your doing a pretty good job at denying it, you can find almost anything to divert your attention. You've explained to her in intricate detail how you really love this one vase.

Just so, when she smiles that special smile, the butterflies in your stomach will be tamed or when she does those light fairy touches, you focus on anything else to keep from reeling, but your mind is still foggy.

It's become a hobby for you; you'd sit at home, when God knows that you don't want to stop being friends with her. You actually like the extra work of finding ways to distract the way she makes you feel.

But, then there's those days, when she's away, kicking the crap out of poor girls, that you'd just let your mind roam free. When you think of her face, and you'd just have the dreamy smile. You'd be pulled out of haze, by Sam snapping her fingers and alerting you that the bell has rung. Your grades are dropping, not dramatic, but from A's to A minus's.

Then there's those day's when you blush red, when she just looks at you, all knowing and you wonder, does she know? Is she doing all this on purpose? The soft, lingering touches...

Why does she have to be so perfect?

You're making yourself something quick to eat, when there's knock on your door, you're agitated. You get agitated a lot, lately, maybe now, because you know it's not going to be her. You just let the person knock again, silently screaming at them in your head to go away. You just want cook this left over spaghetti, go up to the studio and watch a re-run of her fight, all in your favorite pajama's. You slam the microwave and angrily push the buttons, because you've already heated the stupid spaghetti for 2 minutes and it's still kind of cold. You set your taco on a plate and tap your foot rapidly.

"C'mon, c'mon, spaghetti!" You yell at the microwave. There's a small, but yet hypnotizing laugh from behind you. You stand up straight, shoulders tensing and your grateful your facing the microwave because she can't see that your jaw dropped in surprise.

"You know, Shay, yelling at the food isn't going to make it cook faster." And you swear you just melted at her deep, mesmerizing voice. You smile and avoid facing her until you've composed yourself. You take a deep breath and rack your brain for a reply.

"Yes it does, Marx. 'Cause yelling at it takes up the time I'm standing here impatiently waiting for it." The microwave beeps and you swing open the door and before you can reach for your taco, it lands in front of you.

"You're going to make me one, right?" Your heart lands in your stomach, when she whispers so close to your ear that you can feel her breath.

Her spaghetti taco is long gone and yours is only half eaten because you found yourself staring at her repeatedly, just like now… And your doing it, again, but this time as her head turns to yours, you don't pull away; you're compelled to see what she does.

She doesn't let you down, as her eyes meet yours. She winks and smiles, that big, gorgeous smile only a few people have seen. You gulp as the stare lingers, your heart is pounding and those eyes are so beautiful. You get up and stretch, avoid looking at her as you walk towards the door.

"Don't forget my plate." If you weren't back to that good pretending that you didn't have feelings for her thing, you would have caught the note of disappointment in her voice. You circle around; quickly grab her plate and head back downstairs. You dump the paper plates in the trash and throw the forks in the sink, then lean over the counter and take a deep breath.

The thing your trying to avoid, to not admit, you did and now you can't help but feel guilty. You have feelings for Shelby Marx. What the hell? You take another deep breath and try to tell those feelings to go away.

"Shelby. Girl. No, bad Carly." You whisper, repeating a few times, but even as you speak them, you can't help but wonder why your so compelled to her, why she's so different, why you just want to run your hands through her hair, why you panic every time she goes out to a fight. You point out the obvious things, like her body, her hair, and well the fact that she's utterly perfect, but the thing is, you've always been straight, and you can't deny the fact that she's the only girl you like, and will probably ever like. "Why are you so freaking' mesmerizing, Shelby?" You whisper, again, then breath, again and spin around, only to feel like you've been punched in the gut. Your throat tightens up and you try to find breath, but it's lost and your choking on your own words.

She's just looking at you, arms crossed, eyes never leaving yours. You find your breath, but it's ragged and you take a tiny step, just to see if you can get around her, and she still doesn't move, so you try to move around her, because this one you can't talk your way out of.

But, seriously, how do you talk your way out of admitting you just liked your best friend? When you can find that answer, you'll find her, but for now, you have this big urge to take a shower.

"Carly…" Her voice is soft, questioning. You raise your hand and shake your head rapidly, turning around once again, when the counter with the computer was blocking her from you, because you've met the soft end of her punches, if she's going to start throwing some, you have an advantage.

"I'm going to take a shower." And with that your turning, again, but, its Shelby Marx and when she wants an answer, she'll get one. You take one half step, and you feel her hand wrap around the back of your PJ top, you gasp in surprise as she tugs you back and then squeal, when you fall over the arm of the couch, the bottom of your knees on the arm. "What'd you do that for?" You angrily glare at her, but she looks a little sad and you fix your shirt, cross your arms and sit up, staring at the TV.

"Carly, I think it's just simpler then your making it." She sits down, right next to you and you look at her. You just let yourself stare at her face. "You annoyed me at first and I scared you at first. But don't deny, that when I first met your eyes, you didn't at least feel some kind of shock." She turned to you, eyes locked. "Because I did."

"Your right, it's just – I don't think we can explain it. If you left and said you were never coming back. I wouldn't be able to function." She smiles as you whisper those words.

"So, why are you trying to explain it? That question, the one you asked is one of those trick questions. There is no answer. Can I tell you something, Carly?" You smile. "But you have to promise not to tell anyone else." You hold up your pinky.

"Pinky swear." She locks her pinky with yours and your hands linger way longer then they should've.

"I thought – well, with my parents, that just being _really_ happy could never happen, again. So, I found something that could put my fears at bay, fighting, I could save myself and you know. But with you, I feel like nothing could go wrong. Right?" You laugh.

"Why are you asking me? You need to answer that question." She smiles, again.

"Right. The answer is right." And you find some strength you didn't know you previously had and run the tips of your fingers lightly over her cheek and jawbone. There's nothing, since you met her, that you've wanted to do, except really get to know her and run your fingers over that perfect face.

But now kissing her is becoming an overwhelming desire.

"What does this all mean?" You ask at a whisper, your voice somehow gone.

"I guess it means…" She furrow's her eyebrows, before her head snaps back to you. "You're making it difficult, again." You blush and you swear you were going to open your mouth to apologize, but she leaned in, a breath away. You know one hand is on the arm of the couch, holding her up, but the other is on your stomach, pushing you back. You relax as your back hits the armrest, your eyes are shut tightly and your breathing is labored it, but if she moved, you'd be heartbroken. Her hand moves, her finger lightly tracing your lips. You know she must have her eyes open, she must be watching you, but it feels heavenly.

Because you weren't the only one that felt that way.

You realize she's wearing a black hoodie, and you're just in a tank top. You feel exposed and your hands slowly find her stomach, then the zipper and you pull lightly, her lips crashes onto yours.

And oh God, nothing has ever felt this way. Your hand hastily tugs down the zipper and you push at it, she leans back and quickly tugs it off, where it lands on the table, then her lips find yours, again. Your legs straighten out of their crossed position and you crawl farther onto the couch, she moves with you, putting her knees on either side of your waist. Your hands found her hair, and another one of your fantasies was satisfied as you ran your hands through it. She pulled away, and your smiling at her, she's smiling at you, with messed up hair. It was perfect timing, as the door swings open. She falls off the couch with a thump. You can't help but laugh, because that's first time you've seen her without being graceful.

"Carly!" Spencer yells, excitedly, a huge box in front of his face. You can't answer him because your still laughing, she glares at you, before you reach down and fix her hair. Then her features soften and she grabs her hoodie, putting it back on. Then it was her turn to laugh, your favorite laugh, as you realize your pouting. There's another thud as Spencer puts the box on the counter and starts peeling through it.

"New sculpture idea?" He's pulling out the most random objects.

"Yeah!" He smiles, before noticing Shelby. "Shelby." He nods and Shelby nods back.

"Well, good luck." You grab Shelby's hand and tug her to the stairs.

"But, Carly!" He whines. "Hey!" And then your shutting the studio door, leaning against it and laughing with Shelby. The room just quiets and you're both looking at each other in that beautiful way, where you can look into someone's eyes and feel like you're at home. She's moving towards you, before she wraps her arms around you, burying her face in your hair.

And it's so cliché, but as you wrap your arms tightly around her waist, it's so beautiful, you feel like crying.

"I'm mesmerizing because of you."


End file.
